Mirror, Mirror
by Angelinhel
Summary: A response in three parts to Greystar's IC: A carnival houses a mirror that shows the viewer's true soul.
1. Janet Barch

Janet Barch sneered at the boy who ran past, sniveling as he shot like a cannon out of the Mirror, Mirror House

Janet Barch sneered at the boy who ran past, sniveling as he shot like a cannon out of the Mirror, Mirror House. Weakling, she thought to herself. She'd been making her way down the midway to the now infamous attraction, to finally see what all the fuss was about. Handing her money to the ancient carny (narrowing her eyes because she wasn't sure it wasn't another man scamming her out of what she had earned), she marched into the tent.

The sudden cessation of sound momentarily shocked her, but as she made her way through the dim interior, she relaxed. It was quite nice after the raucousness of the carnival. Spotting the heavy, rectangular mirror, she stood squarely in front of it in a silent dare, sure there was no truth it could show her she didn't already know and embrace.

Her image stood as she did, nothing reflecting aside from the beige canvas behind her. Feeling annoyed, Janet was about to turn back and demand a refund when the background behind her shimmered and changed.

She stood in a beautiful garden. A tall, slatted fence could barely be seen for the lush vines covering it. Flowers of all kinds bloomed in profusion everywhere she looked: roses, coneflowers, liatris and daises, sweet jasmine twined along the fence and tiny buttercups dotted the thick green carpet of lawn. Juicy, ripe berries glistened in the sun, enticing birds to join in the beauty all around her. There was a faint buzzing now, a chirp of crickets, and the far-off tweet of a songbird.

Then suddenly, she felt a sharp, painful sting. Looking down at her arm, there was nothing, but her mirror image showed an angry red welt rising. Her face clouding, her image pulled a large canister from behind a bush and pumped the handle, holding the long, flexible nozzle with the other hand. The insect that had stung her was long gone, but she was determined not to let it, or any of its kind, have another opportunity to do so again.

Slowly, methodically, she went from plant to plant, flower to flower, coating everything in a fine mist. She caught a few glimpses of bees and ants writhing for a few seconds before curling into still little balls, feeling satisfied. A movement caught her eye and she blasted it with a sharp stream from the nozzle. Too late she realized it was nothing more than a harmless butterfly, and felt a twinge of sadness as its once beautiful wings curled and withered.

Satisfied with her work, she gazed over her garden. The faint buzzing was gone, as was the chirp of crickets. The bird tweeted further away in the distance, sounding as if it were flying far from the bountiful berries now coated in poison. She shrugged, not caring her garden was solely plants now. She could enjoy its beauty in quiet solitude.

Janet Barch watched the scene and smiled. Alone and surrounded by lush greenery. Who would run from such an image? Yet, as she watched, the flowers began to droop and lose their petals, the grass began to brown and wither. Berries rotted off the vine. The garden was dying. Her image stepped closer to a peony bush that was still green and budding and she spotted tiny black ants on the still-tightly bound blooms. Wielding her spray, she coated the plant in an arc of liquid death. A bee attempted to alight on a rose, only to meet swift and painful death. No matter how she tried to keep the insects out, the garden died around her until noting was left but barren desolate wasteland.

Through the fence she could now see other gardens beyond her own, lush and healthy. Jealousy bloomed, and she became ever more diligent, determined to return her own to its glory. No insect, crawling, biting or flying, would ruin her garden. The slightest movement garnered a wave of poison, even when said movement was a brave blade of grass poking through the dust-covered earth. After the first few plants she accidentally eradicated, she decided it was for the best. The garden's lush beauty was what had lured in the things that bit and stung and hurt. Occasionally she glanced at the world beyond her own, sensing she had lost something precious, but only the desire to keep out the pain remained.

She stood alone in her garden. Joyless, lifeless, and empty.

Janet stared at her reflection unbelievingly. Blinking, she turned without a sound and exited the tent.


	2. Timothy O'Neill

Timothy O'Neil had waited until the very last moment possible

Timothy O'Neil had waited until the very last moment possible. Until it was almost too late. Just as the crone in front of the Mirror, Mirror House looked ready to pull the rope across the tent flap, he rushed up.

"Wait! I'd like to...to go in, please." He held a twenty out.

Without a word, the crone pocketed the money and gestured him in, a strange half-smile on her face.

Balling his shaking hands into fists to hide his nervousness, Mr. O'Neil gave her a watery smile and entered. His heart was pounding as he made his way through the dim interior. He'd heard the rumors running through the carnival: the mirror was magic and showed your true self, your soul. He'd been skeptical, but much like everyone else curiosity got the best of him. Still, he'd waited until most of the students he recognized had left the fair or already gone through. Some had had rather unsettling reactions, the cause of his current nervousness.

He saw the mirror, or the side of it really. It was quite heavy-looking, large and rectangular- leaning against one of the support posts of the tent. Mr. O'Neil suddenly noticed the almost smothering silence of the tent. It wasn't merely quiet, it was a complete absence of sound. As if it were being sucked into the mirror.

Shivering with a sudden chill, he hesitated. Did he really want to see what the mirror would show him? Would it tell him anything he didn't already know? He'd been trying to get his students to explore their inner selves for years and it would have been rather hypocritical not to do the same. And he knew what the students said about him. He wasn't deaf. Or stupid. Apprehensive, nervous, too eager to please, maybe even cowardly, yes. Stupid? No. One did not go through a lifetime of being called Timid Timmy by classmates and family alike without realizing there was some validity to it.

Cowardly was the one that stung the most. Probably because it was the most true, he admitted to himself. Hadn't he been afraid of his reaction to whatever he might see, or even just his anxiousness at going into the Mirror, Mirror House being mocked by students enough to wait until most everyone was gone? Maybe he didn't even need to stand in front of the mirror to see his true self. The mirror itself seemed to be mocking him.

_Coward. Weakling. Spineless, gutless, miserable excuse for a man. You can't even bear to see what you already know. If you don't see it, does it make it any less true? Why do you even bother? You should have saved the money and bought yourself another worthless self esteem book. It would have been just a big a waste._

But somewhere, far in the back of his mind, something made him straighten. Faint, oh so faint, but there, the little voice that got him out of bed every morning, that gave him the energy to start the next class with a smile. The tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, this time, next time, soon, soon, soon...

Timothy O'Neil stood in front of the mirror and faced his reflection squarely.

With a sharp gasp, he ducked. The mirror image ducked too, but didn't avoid the crushing blow of the spiky mace aimed at his shoulder. Grabbing his arm in reflex, Timothy waited for the pain he knew would be coming, a scream forming in the back of his throat. Before he could, another blow came from the opposite side, smashing into his leg. Panicking, he looked down to see nothing had hit him and what he felt was true, not the result of massive shock- there was no pain. Confused, his eyes flew back to the mirror only to witness the horror of his body being pummeled from all sides, blood pouring from gashes, angry red bruises rising where the skin had yet to be ripped apart. His image fell to its knees, never once even raising a hand in self-defense.

Tears pooled in his eyes. To see his life in such a brutal metaphor was too much. Blow after blow rained down on him without so much of a whimper of protest. As the first tear fell, the blows stopped and his reflection knelt, bloody and broken, head bent, torso curled in, hands palms-up on the ground next to his knees, like a pitiful sacrifice to an uncaring god.

He _was _a coward. Useless and pathetic to the point he didn't even try to defend himself.

Just as he was about to turn from himself in disgust, the image stirred. One hand slowly opened, while the other scratched a small hole in the bloodied soil just in front of him. A single seed fell from his palm into the dirt. Carefully, the image covered the seed and gently patted the wet, blood-rich earth over it. Slowly, a thin, green tendril rose out of the ground, twisting and unfurling leaves until a single, perfect flower blossomed in front of him.

Through his tears, Mr. O'Neil watched as his reflection rose, feet planted firmly on either side of the flower. With sudden violence, the spiky black maces returned, pummeling him mercilessly. But his figure stood, square and straight, guarding the flower with singular purpose, accepting the blows which freed his blood to nourish the tiny plant.

Turning away, he understood. He _was _a spineless weakling in the eyes of many, even himself. Too soft, too forgiving. But that was who he was. He couldn't change it. He could only accept it and use it to help others grow.

The world would be cruel.

But he would go on.


	3. Jodie Landon

"Mack

"Mack? Mack!" Jodie called through the crowd at the carnival. She'd fled from the volunteer office, yelling 'family emergency' over her shoulder.

She couldn't believe Mack had dumped her, in so few words, over the phone, with hardly any explanation at all. And she wasn't totally sure that was what had happened. It was hard to hear when six different people are yelling at you, the copier's beeping and three phones are ringing on the desks across from you. The least he could have done was give her ten seconds to step out of the office so she could hear what he had to say.

She'd heard carnival music in the background and had, for once in her life, thrown off responsibility in favor of self-interest. So here she was, wandering aimlessly through the carnival looking for her ex boyfriend. She ran into Kevin Thompson first and cringed.

"Hey Kevin. You haven't seen Mack around, have you?"

"Hey! I think he left. He went into that Mirror tent thingy and after he left with that art chick. Weird. I was looking for Brit. She went to the mirror thingy too but now I can't find her."

"Mirror thingy?" Jodie repeated.

Kevin grinned and nodded. "Yeah they say it's some special mirror that shows like, your soul or something. I don't believe that mumbido jumble."

"Did you look in it?" Jodie asked.

Glancing around Kevin said, "Not yet. That's why I need to find Brit. I'm out of money."

"Oh, well, good luck, then."

Jodie wandered down the midway, thinking. Mack had left with Jane? If he had really unceremoniously dumped her, Jane sort of made sense. She was Jodie's complete opposite. Free-spirited, spontaneous. Fun. Jodie shook her head. She was fun! Sometimes. When she snuck away for a few seconds and didn't spend them asleep. Sighing, she made her way slowly through the crowds. She didn't want to go back to the office. Truth be told, she didn't want to go to the dinner that night or the political envelope-stuffing tomorrow or any of the numerous activities she was scheduled for from now until eternity. But she would go because it was easier than the fighting and part of her really did want to get somewhere in life and this was the only way she knew how.

On her left she saw the Mirror, Mirror House. Curious, she approached the nondescript tent. It showed your soul? Or so Kevin said, and he was hardly the most reliable source of information.

"Care to take a look at truth?"

Jodie jumped as the ancient carny leaned toward her and grinned. The voice creaked with age and coupled with the wizened face made it hard to determine gender. Jodie was leaning toward female.

"I suppose." She shrugged. Handing over the twenty felt like a small victory since her mother had earmarked it for a manicure for the dinner that evening. her mother could even make a pampering spa treatment seem like work.

Entering the tent, Jodie savored the still and quiet before wending her way to the mirror. Not having heard the rumors flying around or having seen anyone else's reaction, she felt no apprehension, only mild curiosity as her reflection stared back at her.

A glint of light shone just above her shoulder. Looking to the side, Jodie saw nothing. Yet in the mirror a tiny silver hook dangled like a fishing line just above her right shoulder. Her image took the hook gently and slid it though the skin of her upper arm.

Slightly disturbed, yet oddly fascinated, Jodie unconsciously rubbed her arm. Another small hook appeared and mirror-Jodie hooked that one through her skin as well. There seemed to be no blood or pain and Jodie watched, transfixed. More and more tiny silver hooks appeared and with every one, her image took it and hooked it through her skin until hundreds of tiny hooks held her in place. Then slowly, the hook lines became more an more taut, pulling her skin in tiny tents all over her body. Her reflection leaned and swayed trying to follow where the hooks pulled her but for every one that pulled right, three pulled left. Some pulled up and others down. There was no way for her to remain neutral.

Becoming more upset as she watched, she wished her image would just pull them all out and run, but knew though the hooks were painless going in, pulling them out would rip her apart.

Feeling tears threaten, she yelled, "I know! I KNOW!"

The image went still. Jodie blinked away unshed tears and mimed pulling a hook gently out of her arm. The image did the same. It would be so much quicker to tear them all out at once and be free, but maybe she could spare herself by removing a few at a time. College, Jodie thought. I'll get rid of them in college. Even if I end up where my parents want me to go, they won't be hovering and I can make my own decisions. Have free time. Be fun.

Determined, Jodie turned from the mirror and left the tent, still unconsciously picking out invisible hooks from her skin.

In the mirror, her reflection slowly shook its head.

And added another hook.


End file.
